Warren vs Trixie
by Jeune Chat
Summary: Warren's cat has something she needs to tell him, so she enlists the help of Layla's mom. Wacky hijinks ensue!


**Author's Notes:** This was inspired by Jess Readin, so thanks for the plotbunny! This is obviously related to both of my previous "versus" stories, Warren vs. the cats and Warren vs. the birthday, though it stands reasonably well on its own. If you're reading War and Peace In Mind, this comes right after chapter 22.

* * *

**Warren vs. Trixie**

"Mroooooowoooo!"

"Trixie, what is _wrong_ with you?"

It was three a.m., according to my bleary-eyed reading of the clock, and my cat was making some kind of unholy noise. Grumpily I shoved back the covers and swung my feet down to the floor to find out what the problem was. _Squish._ Dreading what I was going to find, I powered up one hand to figure out what I had stepped in. _Disgusting_. A warm, frothy puddle of cat yak. A pitiful-looking Trixie sat nearby, watching me with a heart-rending expression.

"Rrow!" she exclaimed.

"Not funny," I growled, grabbing tissues to wipe off my foot and gingerly stepping over to turn on the light.

"Mrew?"

"And don't try to apologize," I snapped, coming back over with paper towels and water to clean up the mess.

"Mrow," she mewled, and butted me on the arm, purring.

"It's ok," I sighed, scratching her on the head. "It's not your fault."

* * *

_Squish!_

"Damnit Trixie!"

It wasn't her fault she was sick, but it was the fifth time in three days! At least this time it was after school instead of the middle of the night. Trixie mewed pathetically as I wiped up the mess again, and I gathered her into my arms as an apology. Trixie purred, rubbed her head on my arm, then abruptly convulsed and puked on the sleeve of my jacket.

That accomplished, she jumped down to groom her whiskers. I discovered a very important fact right then; cat yak smells much worse after its been burned.

I was at my wit's end. I had taken Trixie to the vet just yesterday, where she had suddenly ceased her projectile vomiting and behaved perfectly. The vet had suggested it was some kind of behavioral issue. Finally swallowing the last of my pride, I gathered up Trixie and went to see Layla's mom.

* * *

"Mrs. Evans? Can I talk to you?" I asked when she answered the door. Sunshine Evans was one of my mom's friends, and was, if possible, twice as much of a hippie as her daughter. She always wore her blonde hair loose, dressed in long skirts and beaded jewelry, and looked as if she had just stepped off the cover of some seventies guitar album.

"Warren? Of course you can, come in. Oh, and you brought Trixie! So good to see you again my dear!" she exclaimed, catching up my cat in an embrace normally suited for long-term friends.

"Uh… you know each other?" I said finally.

"Of course, when I go over to visit your mother, I can hardly leave Trixie out of the conversation, now can I?" she asked reasonably.

"You gossip with my cat?" I asked.

"Of course," she repeated casually, handing Trixie back to me. Trixie just purred and climbed up on my shoulder. "So, what's going on?"

"I think my cat is bulimic," I said finally. "She keeps throwing up and the vet can't find anything wrong with her. She said it was a behavior problem."

"Well, you certainly came to the right place for that. I can't tell you the number of pet problems I've smoothed over. Now… no, no, she's not bulimic at all. What's that? She says she's been trying to get a point across to you for the past few days, but she's having some trouble communicating it," Mrs. Evans said, staring fixedly at Trixie.

"I, uh, figured that. What's her problem?"

"Oh, she has several problems, but I'm going to need to discuss them with her in depth," she said seriously.

"You need to psychoanalyze my _cat?_" I asked incredulously.

"Of course. Animals have issues just like people do. Their concerns tend to be simpler than ours, but they need addressing all the same," she said matter-of-factly.

"Do I have to be here?" I asked uncertainly.

"Indeed. Sit."

I sat, and then spent perhaps the strangest two hours of my life. Mrs. Evans sometimes talked to Trixie in plain English, sometimes she simply stared fixedly at her, sometimes she meowed at her, and sometimes she tilted her head and blinked at her in what I thought was an attempt at feline body language.

Trixie, for her part, sometimes meowed back at Mrs. Evans, or stared at her, but other times seemed to ignore her. She mostly sat on my lap, but at one point she crawled inside my jacket for fifteen minutes, which mean Mrs. Evans seemed to be talking to my chest. That was a rather disconcerting experience.

A few times Mrs. Evans made odd comments like, "Is that so?" "Really?" "Well surely…"

Once, after Trixie had made what sounded like a long diatribe of some sort, Mrs. Evans had gone completely scarlet and excused herself to get something to drink.

"Don't even tell me, I don't want to know," I told her after she got back.

"I wouldn't translate that either," she said, trying not to choke on her tea. Finally, after what seemed like a ridiculously long amount of time, Mrs. Evans gave a firm nod and looked up at me.

"Well, I think I have this figured out. Trixie is upset because you're gone all the time. You spend a lot of time either at school or at your night classes, and what little time you spend at home, you're often with your friends and are too busy to play with her.

"Trixie told me when her last owners started spending time away from her, soon afterward she was taken to the shelter and left. So she's just trying to prevent a repeat of that. Can you blame her?"

"I guess not…" I trailed off, feeling unaccountably guilty.

"So, she wants you to spend more time with her. I've explained to her why you go off everyday, but it's up to you now to be a responsible pet owner and play with her like she deserves. Oh, and she wants to play with the guinea pig again, she says that was fun," Mrs. Evans said.

"Uh, that's up to Magenta. Anything else?"

"Trixie says you really should grow your hair out longer."

"I'm supposed to take fashion advice from my cat now?" I asked, laughing a little.

"She said it would really add to the whole raw animal magnetism thing you've got going on."

"_What?"_ I asked in shock.

"Her words, not mine," Mrs. Evans said primly. "Trixie said if you were a tomcat-."

"Please, for the sake of my sanity, don't finish that sentence."

"If you insist," Mrs. Evans said, smiling. I was simply torn between wanting to turn invisible and wanting to strangle my cat.

"Was that what you had to leave the room for?"

"No…"

"Is there anything else I should know that I can safely learn _without_ wanting to soak my brain in acid afterward?" I asked, wincing.

"She thinks you have a lovely singing voice."

"Great… that's just great…" I said faintly, wondering if there was a way I could possibly vanish from the face of the planet. I don't think I would ever be able to look Mrs. Evans in the face again.

"Other than that, I don't think you want to hear the rest of the specifics."

"Thanks," I said, glaring at Trixie. She just looked right back up at me, blinking slowly from time to time. _Bad cat,_ I thought at her. She just purred and laid her head along my arm.

"Trixie really loves you, you know. You saved her from the lonely shelter, and have taken such good care of her. She worries about you. She thinks you're working too hard and she wants you to take a rest," Mrs. Evans said seriously.

"I'm… kinda gonna be a superhero," I reminded Trixie. "I don't get a lot of days off."

"Mrew, muw, mrow!" she exclaimed.

"'I know that, but you need to sleep better. You have too many nightmares as it is,'" Mrs. Evans translated.

"What are you, my nursemaid?" I demanded of my cat. Trixie couldn't exactly roll her eyes, but somehow I was getting that impression.

"Rrow, mew, mrah!"

"'Just trying to get a good night's sleep, that's all,'" Mrs. Evans said, smiling slightly. I sighed.

"Deal," I told Trixie, and she began to purr. Mrs. Evans nodded at me, and I gathered up my cat in my arms.

"Um… thanks for… letting me know what was wrong," I said finally.

"And everything she told me goes with me to the grave," Mrs. Evans added. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Then I got the hell out of the house before Trixie could say anything else.

* * *

"So," I said, after a few minutes of walking. "You're in love with me, huh?"

"Mew."

"I could do worse."

"Rrow…"

"So could you."

"Mrow!"

"I love you too, silly cat."

"Purr…"


End file.
